


The sort of plan

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Titles, Kissing, M/M, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donovan and Anderson get on John's nerves so much that he snaps...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sort of plan

**Author's Note:**

> *Sneaks in and posts the story, then slips off and gets back to updating others with a grin*

Scotland Yard felt stifling, overcrowded, and loud as John clenched his fists and scowled over at Donovan and Anderson whilst they muttered and bitched about Sherlock, making sure that their voices were loud enough to be heard by the detective but quiet enough not to reach the ears of Lestrade, who was off midway down a corridor talking to another inspector. Sherlock and John were in Lestrade’s office, awaiting more paperwork to be dropped in their laps after the closing of a difficult and long case involving the crime of passion to its strongest degree, and Donovan and Anderson were currently gossiping and sneering about the fact that Sherlock had only struggled because of his own lack of experience with sex and relationships. They tittered and mocked Sherlock from where they were standing a few feet away, angled just the right amount to be heard from Lestrade’s open door, and John was getting sick and tired of it.

Normally, John wasn’t so effected by their nattering, and Sherlock was more than capable of brushing aside their constant bullying and belittling, but John had been without proper sleep, food and drink for near enough seven days straight, and so it was grating on his last nerve. John had been curious about his friend’s sexual preference once, but it hadn’t bothered him overall who or what Sherlock liked, in fact, it was none of his business or anyone else’s, it was Sherlock’s choice, Sherlock’s life, and Sherlock could be with or without whomever he chose.

John’s eye twitched when Sally suddenly brought John himself into the equation and pondered aloud if John was actually rogering Sherlock behind closed doors or not and if he’d ever get around to it, before she snorted with amusement and commented on how John surely had more taste, more sense, and that no one in their right mind could want someone like Sherlock in a sexual way unless they were extremely deluded. John took a deep and loud breath, let it out, and turned to glare out at them. Beside him Sherlock was silent, whether that was because of his dampening mood caused by the end of a case, or because of what they were saying, John didn’t know, but when he glanced at him, he eyed Sherlock’s downcast gaze and tensed mouth, and felt a surge of protectiveness so strong that he suddenly stood rigidly from his seat.

Sherlock noticed the sudden motion and glanced up at him with a frown, “What?”

Turning to look back at both Anderson and Donovan, John kicked his chair aside loud enough to get their attention, as well as half the yard, and grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat, hauling him up to his feet without a word. Sherlock stumbled and blinked in the rapid fire way he did when he had been taken by surprise, and John swung him around, pressed him up against and then half onto Lestrade’s desk, and kissed him square on the mouth.

Flailing with a muffled exclamation, Sherlock knocked several things from the desk with an almighty clatter, breaking what sounded like a mug and scattering a whole heap of documents, and then scrambled back away from John, separating their lips only to be dragged back by the thighs, his legs shoved either side of John’s hips. John recaptured his mouth and delved his fingers up into Sherlock’s hair, gripping and stroking and tugging as he kissed Sherlock so passionately and wantonly that he was sure the sight was gathering quite a crowd. He opened one eye and peeked over at Sally and Anderson with an inward smirk, enjoying their twin looks of surprise and abhorrence. John let loose a moan, making sure to have it sound eager and heated, and trailed one hand down to cup Sherlock’s backside.

Sherlock jumped in disbelief at the touch and blinked faster, his mouth not entirely responding to John, though slack and yielding enough to make it look believable as John boldly licked into his mouth with an overly wet and breathy gasp. John clutched Sherlock closer when Sally balked and Sherlock suddenly twitched, pushed and grappled at John’s shoulders with a lowered murmuring, and then leaned into him with a broken groan, closing his eyes after they rolled up in satisfaction.

“Oi! What the hell are you two doing?—Get off my desk! Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourselves,” Lestrade bellowed as he strode over and waved a hand, his eyes wide and entire posture exuding confused shock. 

John jerked back from Sherlock with a noisy parting of wet lips and blushed all at once, “Right. Sorry. I—Would you believe me if I told you that it’s not what it looks like or what you think?”

“Not really, no,” Lestrade retorted, looking at the mess of his desk and the floor with a gesturing of his hands. “Jesus, I’d just sorted those files out—Sherlock, get off my desk!”

John stepped backward and let Sherlock slip to his feet, who looked ruffled and mussed and thoroughly kissed, “M’sorry,” Sherlock muttered, glancing around at a loss as he adjusted his coat and glanced at John briefly. “It wasn’t anything important—that I broke, I mean.”

“It was a gift from my daughter,” Lestrade countered and glowered at them both, nudging his chair to one side and folding his arms, “Look, I don’t give a rats arse what you two get up to in the privacy of your own home—”

John sighed, “That’s not—”

“Don’t even start, John,” Lestrade interrupted him, rubbing his forehead while he peered out at the hovering crowd with a stern stare that had it dispersing quickly. “Christ…listen, just…just go home, yeah? Let loose whatever…feelings you’ve got towards each other there. I’ll swing by later with the forms I need you to sign. And I’ll knock. Multiple times. Until you answer.” 

“Honestly, it’s not what you think,” John tried.

Lestrade arched an eyebrow at him, “You were just making out with Sherlock over my desk.”

“On,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat when Lestrade turned to glare at him. “I wasn’t exactly over it. More like perched—”

“Go home,” Lestrade ordered them. “Now.”

John tried again to explain himself but Lestrade waved him away and then shouted at the remaining group gathered at his doorway, allowing Sherlock and John to slip out together. They moved passed Donovan and Anderson on their way and John lifted his chin, glowered at them, and shot them a tight smile. Sherlock walked several steps behind John silently and John turned to confront him once they were outside, pushing down his flush of embarrassment when Sherlock stuttered to a stop sheepishly. 

“Sherlock—”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock cut in quickly, avoiding eye contact and then huffing with a small smile. “…Thank you. I think.”

John nodded, rocked awkwardly on his feet and returned the smile, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re a great kisser,” Sherlock commented as they started walking again, moving up to John’s side, falling into step with him effortlessly. “But…you realise the entire place will now be utterly convinced we’re in a relationship together?”

“Good,” John replied. “That was sort of my plan.”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah,” John laughed, nudging fondly into Sherlock’s side. “I don’t care though. Let them think what they want. I’m lucky to be in a relationship with you.”

Sherlock lifted his brow and then grinned coyly as John reached across and squeezed his hand, “I rather think I’m the lucky one, John.”

“No, I am.”

“…No. Me.”

“No—is this really happening?”

Sherlock laughed heartily and John beamed, walking down the pavement still holding onto Sherlock’s fingers lightly and looking up when Sherlock hailed down a cab with his free hand and pulled John in, sitting closer to him on the seat than he ever had before. John relaxed back, bumping their shoulders together, and sighed happily with Sherlock pushing back against him and gazing out the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
